Cigarettes and Regrets (written for an LJ quote challenge "Where there's smoke, there's fire")
Sawyer pulled up to a run-down bar in rural Indiana, discouraged after another failed con. The woman's name was Tara – striking red hair, tanned, shapely body, older, balding businessman for a husbandwho owned the entire United States sausage enterprise… and she had thrown herself at Sawyer. But her husband was an astute man, and every gray hair on his head was like another piece of knowledge he possessed. And he didn't believe Sawyer, so Sawyer had driven away, and somehow found himself in front of this sagging wooden building, completely nondescript except for a faded neon sign that flickered "McGunn's Bar." Sawyer shut the door of the old pick-up truck he had acquired from some woman's husband about a year ago. Allison? Or had it been Alicia? He couldn't remember, no matter how deeply into his head he searched. "Screw it," he muttered in frustration, running his hands through his sandy-blonde hair.
Sawyer walked in, lighting up a cigarette, and sat down at the counter. He had hoped for a couple of shots, maybe a game of pool, or a quick lay, but as Sawyer looked around the bar, he was disappointed. He ordered a shot of tequila, but the pool table was in use, and the only woman who caught his eye was clearly post-menopausal. A round-faced man next to Sawyer sneered, "Great. All we need 'round here is another son of a bitch who thinks he's god's gift."
Ten minutes later, the tired, sallow faced bar tender was breaking up the fight, too lethargic to care about who had started it. "You," he growled at Sawyer. "Out."
"Fine," Sawyer, pulled away, his cheek slightly bruised. "Don't need your damn bar, anyway!" And with that, he staggered outside.
Sawyer lit a cigarette, taking a deep puff from it. "Son of a bitch," he groaned, and smoked the rest of the cigarette in relative silence, the smoke surrounding him. Looking at the sky, he remembered a time when his mother had been alive, pointing out the clear constellations as she held her young son in her lap. His mother was probably crying in the heavens, Sawyer thought savagely, if she could see him now. Looking at the butt of his cigarette, he dropped it on the ground. A tiny flame burst from the edge, andSawyer looked at the building. Maybe he should just watch the damn bar burn, he thought – after all, where there was smoke, there was fire.
Sawyer stomped on the butt of the cigarette, and the flame flickered out. "Damn it to hell," he grunted, walking away, ashamed at his own cowardice.
Damn! I put "Boone looked at the building", so now I am changing it.